Stairway to Heaven
by A.j
Summary: Padme muses on the fickleness of fate. Obidala flavored companion not sequel to Road to Perdition.


Disclaimer: Ain't mine, ain't makin' money.  
  
Archiving: It's going to The Peach Tree () eventually, FF.Net   
tonight, and probably Restless. But everyone else is more than welcome, but definitely read the notes for more info.  
  
Dedications: To Theed who's recent post on FF.Net reminded me that I had a mostly-finished story somewhere on my   
hard drive. And Kerrie because she's writing more Thing and that just rocks my tiny little world.  
  
Notes: This is going to take a little explaining. I have exactly one other published Obidala story. That story ("Road to   
Perdition") actually came about *after* I'd started this one, and just grabbed my head and wouldn't let go. *This* is the   
story I'd originally intended to write. Basically, this is a companion a/u story to "Road to Perdition" (hence the rather   
amusing coupled name) that takes a look at the happier road. Well, more shippy, anyway.  
  
***  
  
Stairway to Heaven  
By A.j.  
  
***  
  
Sometimes, when I'm contemplating the stars in the field behind my cabin, I   
wonder if destiny really had all of this planned out for me. It's a frightening   
thought. Does it, or fate, or even the Force plan things out to be so horrible?   
Can our higher power be this cruel just to accomplish an end?  
  
Unfortunately, I think it can.  
  
I didn't used to. When I was six years old, my teachers saw something in me. I   
was never sure what they saw, or even how they saw it, but three months after   
the cake had been eaten and the presents opened, two men came to the door of our   
home. The shorter of them smiled and gave me a candy while the taller went into   
the sitting room with mama and papa.   
  
Three days later, while I was playing yenta out in the yard with my sister, they   
came again. This time, they did not chat with mama and papa. Instead, papa   
came outside with the saddest look on his face. In his hands was a large canvas   
bag. He gave it to the men and called me to him.  
  
"Now, my little one," he said, his eyes and voice serious. "I want you to go   
with these men. They are here to take you to learn to be a queen. Your mother   
and I need you to be strong and do what you are told. You have made us proud   
while you have belonged to us. Now it's time for you to give back to your   
home."  
  
I'd never been able to understand how he was able to put my hand into the taller   
man's.  
  
Cigran IV is a beautiful place. I hadn't expected it to be. It was a strange   
surprise amidst a lifetime of not so pleasant ones. The air is clean and sweet   
here in the mountains. We, Eirtae and I, have been here for almost five months.  
  
I have not seen the father of my children in six.  
  
It is a daunting thing, motherhood. It changes you in ways you can't even   
imagine. My children, my twins, have not even drawn their first breath, but I   
know in my bones that there is nothing in this galaxy that I will not do to   
protect them. And if it means their father can never know the truth, so be it.  
  
But it pains me. So much...  
  
Distraction is the name of the game these days. While beautiful, Cigran is not   
the most forgiving of homes. Its wild beauty comes at a price. The supplies we   
brought with us, mostly medical equipment and emergency food rations, are not   
enough to carry myself and Eirtae through the entirety of our stay here. As   
such, we've had to adapt ourselves to a life neither of us have ever been   
prepared for.  
  
As queen, I never really bothered thinking about where my food came from. Oh, I   
was perfectly aware that farmers and agricultural gardens provided my world with   
enough for all. I am not, contrary to current thought, stupid. I lived my   
first six years in a farming community and I even negotiated a few ag-guild   
disputes before retiring. But I never really thought about it. Food was   
something that came from the kitchens, not the ground. Even when I was small   
and did live on one of the farms, I never connected that the plants mama and   
papa spent all day tending and the jars we ate out of were at all related.  
  
You learn to think about things quite differently when you're given no other   
choice. The first feeling of dirt on your hands is not one that is easily   
described. It is almost soft. And the smell just stays with you. Clean, and   
rich, it clings to your clothes and skin, mingling with sweat and sun. The   
whole process is strangely satisfying. Oh, I know that the small garden Eirtae   
and I have managed to carve out next to our cabin is not one of the grand   
gardens of Theed, but it feels as if it should be. We've worked for it. The   
tiny plants are things we have nurtured and cared for. That alone makes them   
amazing.  
  
I had never grown anything important before coming here. Before this garden in   
this place, there was nothing. A life lived in the service of others with   
nothing that was honestly mine. Not my work, or my home. Not even my marriage.   
Before coming here, I created nothing.  
  
Expectations. Bits and pieces of demands that other people placed on me.   
They've been missing since I've come here. Delayed so that I can concentrate on   
myself and my children. There are expectations attached to them too. But right   
now that's not important. Right now, it's me and Eirtae, our garden, our cabin,   
and this world. And as much as I miss my life and the people important to me, I   
don't think I'd trade this time for anything else in the universe.  
  
But being content doesn't stop my mind from asking questions.  
  
Have you ever wondered if your life is completely planned out? Have you ever   
had a realization like that? Have you been sitting quietly eating your morning   
meal and just suddenly look up, knowing that this particular meal, at this   
particular time has been executed and planned for a reason you have no   
comprehension of? Have you ever made a decision knowing that it isn't the right   
one, but somehow knowing it was the one that needed to be made?  
  
I've done this. And that choice changed my life almost as dramatically as   
nodding at my father and waving him goodbye.  
  
That day, in the arena on Geonosis, I felt another push. Nothing physical or   
mental. I just knew that I needed to tell Anakin what he wanted to hear. That   
I loved him.  
  
I did love him. But not to the depth he needed me to. I don't think that I'm   
honestly capable of loving him in that way. I have no idea if I can love anyone   
in the way he wanted me to love him. I don't even know if anyone can love   
another like that.  
  
I've lived my entire life moving from one major responsibility to the next. If   
I was not being raised to lead, I was taking lessons, or governing a planet. I   
do not wish to say that I did not enjoy parts of my role. It is amazing to   
travel through space and to live and adventurous life. It is exciting. But it   
is also one of the loneliest and scary lives possible.  
  
I took office at the age of fifteen. And while I was raised to do this thing,   
no one is ever prepared for that kind of duty. I had the health and safety of   
millions of people depending on my decisions. Even if it was a democratic   
state, the decisions came down to me. When I was finally forced to step down, I   
was giddy. This paralyzing weight was to be lifted from my shoulders at long   
last. I knew I could not go and live a quiet, dull, life, but I was going to   
try.  
  
There was absolutely nothing I wanted more than to be able to sit on the porch   
of a remote cabin and not see another soul for days. Rather ironic now, given   
the circumstances. Be careful what you wish for.  
  
But the timing was not right. The new queen, she who I did not envy in the   
least, stepped in and personally asked me to stay on as a senator to the   
Republic. I wanted to say no. How desperately, I wanted to look her in the   
face and laugh. I was twenty-two years old and had not slept without an armed   
guard in the next room since I was six. Did I want to put what was left of my   
life on hold and jump, once more, into the breech? God, no.  
  
But something stayed my tongue. Standing there in those grand chambers, all   
those eyes upon me, I felt so old. The weight I'd tricked myself into believing   
was gone returned. Looking into those wide dark eyes, eyes that were entirely   
too young for the burden they'd been asked to bear, I saw myself. How could I   
do anything but accept? This girl, and my entire world, still needed my help.  
  
In that instant, Destiny laid her hands once again on my head, and this thing,   
this fate, was sealed. It was a cruel thing, that choice. But it's lead me   
many places, and given me Anakin. And Obi-Wan. And my children.  
  
I had to cut my hair not long after we arrived. It is strange to go day to day   
without its familiar weight on the back of my neck. But it was impractical and   
hard to care for. Besides, it was freeing watching it hit the ground, lock by   
lock, and as the weight disappeared off my neck, everything in me felt lighter.   
It was symbolic, in a way.  
  
Anakin always loved my hair. Sometimes he would play with it for hours.   
Running his fingers through its heavy weight. More than once, I awoke to find   
him smoothing it down across the sheets of our bed. It was something so sweet   
and entirely Anakin.  
  
I still dream of those times. The ones right after our marriage, where   
everything seemed better. Less tense. Looking back, I'm not surprised that   
those times did not last. I wanted them to. Desperately. Before anything   
else, he was my friend, and for that, I wanted to give him something. What he'd   
lost... what he'd never had? I'm not entirely sure, even to this day.  
  
He was a beautiful soul in so many ways. He had such an amazing and quick   
laugh... He could find humor and joy in the smallest thing. It was so easy for   
him. Everything came naturally to Anakin. Joy. Humor. Physical ability.   
There was nothing to hard for him, and when he was with me, I felt I could do   
anything. Even dare to love a Jedi.  
  
I miss him so much.  
  
But I don't miss the fear. Or the anger or the lying. Because as happy as we   
were, there was always something just out of reach with us. Before she died,   
Sabe told me that the cloud I'd felt was due to him going slowly mad. Smart as   
she was, I don't think that was all of it.  
  
I think part of our wrongness had to do with the fact that we never really were   
an 'us'. Not in the way we should have been. Or could have been, maybe. We   
could never actually be who we really were because neither of us really knew   
until it was too late. There was too much history and tradition wrapped around   
us. He was a Jedi, I, a senator. We defied convention and duty to marry. And   
love.  
  
The rub of it, is all that we had known were our roles. A senator and a Jedi.   
Our marriage was a way for us to push away our boundaries and try to see what   
was underneath. It was needed, I think, at the time. We used each other to   
explore and learn. But by the time we figured ourselves out, I knew he wasn't   
the one I needed... and he was gone.  
  
In his wake he left a pile of burning rubble and a regret I'll bear the rest of   
my days. But as horrid and painful as the days after Anakin's defection became   
clear were, I was gifted with something even more beautiful.  
  
Because the morning after Anakin walked away from me, Obi-Wan truly came into my   
life.  
  
I don't think ever knew, exactly, what a Jedi was before Obi-Wan pulled me from   
the burning mass that had been the Nubian royal palace. All I'd known of the   
order, and Obi-Wan for that matter, had been seen through the slowly darkening   
lens Anakin presented.  
  
Structure, discipline, rules. The Jedi Order is about finding a balance with   
the Force, and through that, your own life. It's a simple philosophy, really.  
  
But Anakin never saw it that way. I think that, when he was still a child,   
becoming a Jedi represented a rebellion against the rules of his home. I've   
only been to Tattoine twice. Both times, the thing that almost overwhelmed me   
was the intensity of its harshness. There was alive, and there was dead. There   
were slaves and there were masters. Masters made the rules.  
  
I think it is rather unfortunate that the Jedi adopted the term 'Master' as an   
honorific. I don't really think it is. A positive one, at least. Because on   
some level, after Qui-Gonn and his mother's passing, there was no positive to   
that term. Rebellion by living a simple life was not enough.  
  
I think Obi-Wan knew that. But the same rules that Anakin chafed against, Obi-  
Wan embraced. And they were binding. He made a promise to his own master. He   
promised Qui-Gonn Jinn that he would train Anakin to be a Jedi. He would offer   
what had been given to him, no matter that the child did not truly understand   
what he was being given. No child really does.  
  
And I think that is what Anakin still is. Was.  
  
For Obi-Wan, being a Jedi was more than just a way out. It was his life. A way   
*of* life. The discipline, and the lessons, and the people... They were order   
in chaos. Something to depend on. I wish Anakin could have seen things that   
way.  
  
He was a beautiful person, my Anakin. So full of life, with such capacity for   
joy. But, he was also just as capable of being so cruel.  
  
He slaughtered an entire village to avenge his mother. An entire village, from   
the oldest man, to the youngest babe. Everyone.  
  
I knew this before we married. He told me about it, crying but not sorry. Not   
sorry at all.  
  
And I wonder, sometimes, when the moon is full, and Eirtae is asleep, just why I   
opened my heart to that fascinating, dangerous creature. He was beautiful, my   
Ani. He had so much promise. Potential. I think I loved that. And when I'm   
being truly honest, I let myself admit that it was that potential and the   
rebellion that I loved. Because, as much as I hate to think it, those were the   
things that I could love.  
  
But there was something missing. In him, and in our relationship. There were   
days when I could taste his soul screaming just by placing my lips on his. But   
I had no idea what to do. I wanted to heal him, but I couldn't. And it was   
only after I figured this out - after he left - that I could face the entire   
truth of it all.  
  
Sex with Anakin was an exercise in need. In the beginning, it was exciting and   
passionate, it left me dizzy. He desired me in a way that I could not   
comprehend. I was his angel, beautiful and entirely his. He was always looking   
for something with me. Ani, my beautiful man-child, put his entire being into   
our joinings. It was as though, if he tried hard enough, we could meld into one   
being. Then he would no longer be alone.  
  
But, like so many other things, it didn't work.  
  
I couldn't give him what he needed. And that lack in me, in us, was yet another   
nail in an iron coffin.  
  
The... last time was not my choice. It was a last attempt, I think, to force an   
intimacy. I can still remember his hands on my sides and my face, the calluses   
rough and almost painful on my sensitized skin. It was not rape, I don't think.   
Our coupling was not my choice, but Ani knows my body's responses. Similar to a   
mind trick, he can get this mortal shell to do exactly what he wants, whether my   
mind likes it or not.  
  
It's different with Obi-Wan. Quieter. Softer in a way I cannot put into words.   
There was need between us. But that desperation for *something* was missing.   
It's just he and I and whatever we chose to do. He did not demand so much as he   
asked. And for all that what we had was something out of time, I can not help   
but hold it close to my heart. There is a peace in it.  
  
I will not say that what we have is better or worse than what I had with Anakin.   
It's different. But there is love. I know this in my bones.  
  
Two days before he left, he told me he loved me. We'd been walking, chatting   
quietly about nothing and everything, dancing around the topic we both wanted to   
avoid. He was leaving and I was staying. There was nothing we could do to   
change that. He was needed elsewhere, and I was needed to stay safely still.   
The night had been quiet for Cigran and the evening chorus of ground insects was   
a soft buzz in the distance. We'd stopped by one of the several trees that   
lined our path and had just been watching the moons and then he turned to me and   
just said it. Plainly, simply, and with no hint at a demand for reciprocation.  
  
I love you. I love you.  
  
And it was just right.  
  
So maybe that's why I can still look up at the stars and smile. Because I know   
there's someone out there who loves me not for what I can give him, but because   
he just does.  
  
And it is for him that I do this thing. That I perpetuate this lie. For him,   
and for my children. I never could understand how my father would willingly   
give up his child. He was my FATHER. More than anything else, he should have   
wanted me to grow happy and strong. With him.  
  
I understand now.  
  
He knew, somehow, that my path did not lie with his and mama's. He knew that he   
had to let me go, because destiny had chosen something else for his young   
daughter. I was marked. And he was strong enough to choose the harder road.   
Because it was the right thing to do.  
  
Just like this is.  
  
I love my babies more than anything in this universe. They are precious to me,   
just as their father is. But I know something very important, that no one else   
does. And I also know that if the rest of the universe finds this thing out,   
these two little souls will be in so much more danger than they already are.  
  
Anakin Skywalker is not the father of my children.  
  
That last night produced nothing in me save a sense of doom and loss. Anakin,   
my friend and husband, the man I tried desperately to save, was gone. When he   
left my bed the next morning, I knew he would not come back. Not ever again.  
  
Two days later, I watched from the distant Gungan swamps as Theed burned. Obi-  
Wan stood beside me, face stony, watching the temples and the museums and the   
homes fall. Mud and soot streaked our clothing and grief our minds. He'd gotten   
me away just in time. He and Anakin had fought.  
  
Obi-Wan may have been the one to walk away, but neither won.  
  
I don't remember much of the next few days. We - Obi-Wan, I, and a handful of   
my most trusted assistants - fled Naboo. Deep in my bones, I know I'll never   
see my homeworld again. I don't even know if it still exists right now. But we   
got away, us five. Eirtae. Sache. Dorme. Obi-Wan. Me.  
  
And we ran. Hard and long. Because Naboo was not the only world burning. Or   
the only people dying. No, Palpatine and the thing Anakin had become were, and   
are, doing their merry best to make sure that everything they'd once claimed to   
embrace falls to dust.  
  
The Old Republic, the mistress that demanded my service above all, is falling.   
Just as the Jedi Order falls under the blade.   
  
As much as that scares and saddens me, I'm not entirely convinced it's a bad   
thing. From the depth of chaos comes change, and though it is heralded on a   
cushion of pain, change can be good. It can be new, and I think that this   
universe needs something different. We all do. Because the old ways are no   
longer working.  
  
I still don't know how he and I became lovers. It wasn't a conscious choice   
either of us made. How could it be?  
  
I'd lost a husband. He'd lost a son. We were both losing every stable piece of   
ground in our world. And when there's nothing but each other, a body tends to   
cling. And we did cling.  
  
My hands cradle around the result.  
  
Is it another turn in this strange game I've found myself locked into? I think   
it might be. Because with the first little tug of Force inside my body, there   
was no question in anyone's mind as to who's children these must be.  
  
Even Obi-Wan has never questioned. And that's a strange thing, considering what   
we've become. But looking at it now, it's the only way this can work. It's the   
only way these children can survive.  
  
So this illusion must continue. Obi-Wan's legacy will live on, but under the   
taint of the Skywalker name. It is so unfair and wrong that it chokes me. But I   
am a mother. I will sacrifice anything for my children. As it stands, this   
fate is asking me to take these two precious lives away from their father, a man   
more than worthy of their love.  
  
But not matter what tomorrow may bring, in this moment I am content. I am happy   
because while this road destiny has chosen for my children and I is hard, and   
the risks terrible, I have faith. It has given me two amazing, beautiful men,   
and my life has never been boring.  
  
Destiny knows what she's doing. And though the price for extraordinary lives   
may be painful, a life is still extraordinary.  
  
When I was fifteen years old, I had a chance encounter with three males. The   
father, the young man, and the boy. Each touched me in some way. And when they   
left me, each had placed his mark on my soul. It saddens me that of the three,   
only two are left, and both are broken.  
  
But destiny is not a kind mistress. She is demanding and cold, but she has a   
plan. And as much as I wish it were not true, my life, Anakin's life, Obi-Wan's   
life, even the lives of the children I bear, are hers. We've her thumbprints   
all over us. Not all of us will live to see the end of this game. I know this   
in my bones. But no one does live forever.  
  
And there will always be another game. 


End file.
